


Actions and Consequences

by Persiflage



Series: Bondkink Fics [50]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Bond is M's, F/M, M is Dressed to Kill, Office Party, Older Woman/Younger Man, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond is in trouble, again, and he learns just what the consequences of his actions could be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Actions and Consequences

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolfsbride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbride/gifts).



> Written for Wolfsbride, who prompted the whole scenario.  
> Disclaimer: Not mine, not profitable.

"Really, Mr Bond, would it kill you _not_ to blow up everything in sight when I send you on a mission?" M's voice was as quiet as usual since she tended not to shout very often, but there was a razor-edge of anger in her tone nonetheless.

Bond gave a shrug, trying to look repentant, but sure he was failing, which she confirmed the next moment by a scowl. 

"Do you realise how much the clean up operation costs after you've gone on one of your little destructive sprees?"

Bond shook his head. "No, ma'am." He sounded sullen, even to his own ears, and winced internally since he knew that his tone as well as his attitude would piss off M. 

"Perhaps I should start deducting the costs from your salary, then maybe when you find yourself losing around ten thousand pounds per operation, you'll pay more attention?"

This time he winced properly, and hoped he'd managed a suitably guilty expression when he looked at her. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I will try harder next time."

"See that you do, Mr Bond, or I really will start making deductions from your salary." She scowled. "Twenty percent ought to make you take notice."

He nodded, clenching his hands behind his back as he waited for her to dismiss him.

"Very well, you may go. Any equipment you managed to bring back in one piece should be returned to Q-Branch, of course."

He noticed that she didn't ask if he had brought anything back intact, which irritated him since he actually hadn't broken everything this time, but he deemed it wisest not to mention this, given her mood.

"I will see you tonight at seven thirty sharp."

He gave her a startled look before remembering that she'd asked him to escort her to an FCO bash this evening. He hid another wince at the prospect of an evening spent with the people who were technically his and M's superiors, and nodded an acknowledgement.

She nodded back, her lips in a tight line, and he let himself out of her office feeling rather like a puppy which had been chastised for peeing on the carpet yet again.

He found Bill Tanner conferring with M's secretary, a severe-looking young woman named Anastasia, and a dark-skinned young woman he recognised as a field agent with whom he had not worked yet.

Tanner looked up as Bond carefully closed the door to M's office, and raised an eyebrow at Bond's expression.

"Drink lunchtime?" he asked quietly, and Bond nodded in gratitude.

007-007-007

A few minutes after one o'clock the pair entered the Riverside pub, which constituted their local, and Tanner went to the bar for their drinks, while Bond found a corner table. Tanner came back with their drinks after a few minutes, and a waiter followed shortly afterwards with a plate of sandwiches to go with their beers.

"So what's up?" asked Tanner with his customary directness. "You came out of your briefing this morning like a dog with its tail between its legs."

"M castigated me for blowing things up – again," Bond said; he'd been sulking about it ever since. 

"Well, you ought to be used to that by now," Tanner observed, not wholly sympathetically. "What was different this morning?"

"She threatened to start deducting twenty percent of my salary for every mission that requires a clean-up operation." Bond scowled as his friend spluttered into his beer. "It's not funny," he protested.

"No, I suppose not," Tanner agreed, with what looked suspiciously like amusement still in his eyes.

"And I'd forgotten about this bloody do tonight. M asked me to escort her weeks ago, and like an idiot I agreed. It'll be full of crashing bores, no doubt, and I won't even be able to get drunk to cope because I'll be escorting M."

"Oh dear." Tanner looked rather more sympathetic now, which was a relief to Bond. "Maybe she'll go home early, and then you can go on to somewhere more congenial?"

"God, I hope so." Bond picked up one of the sandwiches and began to eat.

007-007-007

Bond was at M's flat five minutes before the stipulated time as he had no desire to incur her wrath any further that day. Her bodyguard rang upstairs to say he'd arrived, and she told Anderson to send Bond up, so he stepped into the lift recalling, as it carried him upwards, that the last time he'd been here she'd torn him off several strips for blowing up that embassy. He sighed, then tweaked his bow tie, before tugging at his cuffs. Much as he disliked the FCO staff, he had no intention of letting M down by appearing less than smart: he might be little better than a thug in a suit, but at least this thug looked good in his suits.

The lift came to a stop and the doors slid open noiselessly. Bond stepped out into the large sitting room, and turned at a slight noise. He had to clamp his mouth firmly shut otherwise he knew his jaw would drop open at how stunning M looked tonight. She wore a black dress that was so low-cut in the front that it left nothing to the imagination; the black lace along the edges of the cleavage drew the eye to her voluptuous breasts. There was decorative beading along the front of the waist that curved upwards to meet the lowest point of the dress over her breasts, and he couldn't help wondering whether she wanted all the men staring at them. She also wore a black jacket in a sheer fabric; the sleeves were semi-transparent, and he was forced to admit that she looked alluring. She smirked at him, obviously aware of his astonishment despite his best attempts to remain poker-faced, then she twirled on the spot.

"What do you think, James?"

"No one will be able to take their eyes off you, ma'am," he said, wondering a little at her use of his first name.

"Good." He raised his eyebrows and her smirk widened. "I want you to stick close to me tonight, and while the men are busy ogling, you can keep your ears open and your wits about you, and see what tidbits you can pick up."

Bond blinked, wondering if she knew how hard it was going to be for _him_ to avoid ogling her too. He said nothing, however, just nodded. 

She nodded back, then stepped into her shoes, picked up her bag, and gestured at the door. "Let's go then."

Bond pressed the lift button and the doors slid back open, then he gestured for M to precede him inside.

007-007-007

He escorted her inside the three-storey Foreign and Commonwealth Office building, trying not to wince at the volume of noise in the entrance hall as the other guests milled around, drinking champagne and talking at the tops of their voices. Those closest to the door when they entered turned to look, and Bond saw several jaws drop, while the two nearest women looked as if they'd bitten into something very sour, and he forced himself not to smirk at their reactions. 

A waiter approached carrying a silver salver on which sat several champagne flutes. Bond took two, then passed one to M, who took a hefty swig from her glass, while he just sipped at his.

"Let's mingle," M said, and he nodded, then followed in her wake as she set off to start greeting people she knew. 

007-007-007

The evening seemed interminably long to Bond as he stayed at M's right elbow, listening and taking mental notes on the conversations he could overhear while the men tried to pretend they weren't staring down her cleavage. Several of the diplomats' wives were outright bitchy, he noted, clearly resenting the fact that a woman of M's age could carry off the outfit she wore.

Eventually he was forced to leave M chatting with some old friends while he took himself to the gents. He shut himself in a stall and pulled out his phone, intending to send Tanner a quick text, when he heard two other men come in, one of whom mentioned M's name. He sat very still, listening with all his might.

"She's got absolutely no control over Bond," one man said, and after a moment Bond placed the voice as belonging to one Gareth Mallory, currently head of the Joint Intelligence Committee.

"What do you mean?" asked the other man, whose voice Bond didn't recognise.

"His missions always leave a trail of destruction in their wake," Mallory said. "He's apparently completely incapable of completing a single mission without blowing up buildings, or wrecking cars or other vehicles. He's a liability, no matter what M says."

"She defends him?" asked the second man, sounding disbelieving.

Mallory snorted. "Oh yes. Says he's her best agent and that he always gets the results we want, no matter what gets thrown at him, or how bad the odds are." Bond couldn't help feeling a little glow of warmth at hearing this. "If he were _my_ agent, I'd fire him. As it is, I think it's time we started looking for a new head of the Service. M's not getting any younger, after all, so we should be able to shuffle her off into retirement easily enough."

Bond felt a surge of anger roar through his body and he had to forcibly restrain himself from bursting out of the toilet stall so he could kick Mallory's arse for him. After a moment he heard the hand driers working, then the door banged behind the two men.

Bond waited a few more minutes to give himself time to regain his composure, then he let himself out of the stall and crossed to the sink. He washed his hands mechanically, staring unseeingly at his own reflection as he considered what he'd heard. It hadn't occurred to him before that M was always berating him for the destructive nature of his missions because they had an impact on her, and his anger at Mallory was tempered now by guilt. His behaviour might cost M her job, and that was something that didn't bear thinking about; he wasn't so concerned about himself, but he was appalled at the thought that M might be pushed out because of anything he'd done.

He dried his hands, then made his way back to find M, realising that he owed her a massive apology, and resolving to be far more careful in the future.

007-007-007

Bond was silent in the car on the way back to M's flat, but since she had her head back and her eyes closed, he chose to assume she wouldn't object to his reticence.

"Come up, Bond, and tell me what you found out tonight," she said as they pulled up outside her building.

"Ma'am."

Once inside her flat, M stepped out of her shoes, and Bond helped her out of her jacket.

"Coffee?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Take a seat, James. I won't be long."

True to her word, she returned within a few minutes carrying a tray, which Bond immediately sprang up and took from her, setting it down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. M poured two cups of coffee from the heavy china coffeepot, then added milk to hers. Bond took his black, and he set the cup down on the side table beside the armchair he'd been occupying, then paced over to the fireplace.

"What can you tell me about the conversations tonight?" M asked, swinging herself around so that she sat sideways on the sofa, her stocking-clad legs stretched out in front of her.

He adopted his hands behind his back stance, his legs slightly spread for balance, and began his report, repeating verbatim conversations he'd overheard, and identifying people by descriptions where he didn't know their names, and M listened intently. He knew that her power of recall was as good as his own, and that if he were to quiz her afterwards, she would be able to recount any one of the conversations he was now reporting as if she had heard it herself.

Finally he finished and M thanked him courteously.

"There was one other conversation, ma'am." He'd debated with himself about whether or not to repeat to her Mallory's conversation with his unknown friend, but he couldn't persuade himself that it would be a good thing not to share it, feeling that forewarned was forearmed, and if Mallory was going to try to oust her, she should have as much warning as possible.

"I overheard Mallory talking to someone when I went to the Gents." He swallowed, then added, "They were discussing you."

Her eyebrows rose and her lips thinned, then she nodded. "Go on."

Bond told her. He no longer felt any sort of pride in the knowledge that M regarded him so highly, and the anger that he'd managed to damp down reared up again, like a dying fire suddenly fed more oxygen.

"I see," M said when he came to the end of his recital. "Well, thank you for telling me, James. I'm very grateful for the warning."

"What will you do, about Mallory, I mean?"

"Do about him?" she asked, looking slightly puzzled.

"I could kill him for you," Bond said quickly, his voice low.

M chuckled softly. "No, thank you James. I appreciate the offer, but the paperwork would be an awful nuisance." She swung her legs down off the sofa, and Bond, acting on impulse, crossed the room in two rapid strides and knelt at her feet, clasping her hands in both of his.

"Can you forgive me, ma'am?" he asked penitently.

"What for?" She'd looked startled by his gesture, but now she looked confused.

"For jeopardising your job in such a cavalier fashion."

M gently pulled her right hand free of his grasp and cupping his left cheek in her right hand, lifted his bowed head. "I forgive you," she said softly. "I forgive you because what you overheard Mallory saying is perfectly true. You are by far my best agent, because you always complete your missions, no matter what the personal cost to yourself might be." She smiled at him. "Yes, I would be very grateful if there were fewer explosions, damaged vehicles, etc., during your operations, but the most important thing is that you get the job done, and that you come back to me."

"I always will," Bond said, his voice trembling slightly. "I'm yours." 

She looked down at him, then sighed softly. "So that's the way of it, is it?" 

He looked up, confused by the odd tone in her voice. "Ma'am?"

She stood up, tugging at his arm to signal he should get up too, and when he was standing, she put a hand on his chest, over his heart. "All those explosions, all that wreckage, and all those girls you've fucked – it was just a way of getting my attention, wasn't it?" 

He flushed, feeling his prick hardening, then nodded, unsure where she was going with this line of thought.

"James, if I take you into my bed, you must understand that it won't make any difference to our working relationship." She tilted her head, looking up into his face. "I cannot allow it to. If you are the best man for the job, I will send you out to do that job, even at the hazard of your own life. There can be absolutely no room for sentiment in our working relationship. Do you understand that?"

Bond shifted his feet, aware that he was fully hard now. "Yes ma'am."

She stood looking up at him for a moment or two longer, watching his face, as if assessing his comprehension of her words. Then she pushed up onto her tiptoes and kissed him: there was nothing soft or tender in that kiss, it was savagely passionate, and he felt his cock threatening to burst as a wave of heat suffused his body.

"Come to bed, James."


End file.
